Lady L
by Nurdles
Summary: Brienne Tarth takes a vacation alone at the beach. What she finds there wasn't on the brochure.
1. Chapter 1

Brienne rubbed the thick white lotion into the pale skin of her thigh. She checked herself carefully for more smudges, twisting to double-check her back and bum before she was satisfied that she'd found them all and wouldn't go about looking like she'd used an entire tube of the stuff.

_Why is sunblock always coconut scented? I'm going to smell just like a Pina Colada_. It couldn't be helped; the less boozy-smelling brand only went up to SPF 45, and painful experience had shown her that wasn't quite strong enough.

"Eat the lobster, don't _be_ the lobster." She recalled her Septa chiding her when she'd, once again, returned from her morning ride with a face so red it appeared she had a permanent blush. This was close enough to how it looked normally, until it began to peel. Then she'd be scolded for picking at the flakes of skin, forced in front of a mirror, and made to stare at the splotchy mess of her face, inevitably followed by a lecture on proper skin care and _the Importance of Looking Your Best_.

Examining herself in the full-length mirror, Brienne quickly assessed her face. She'd chosen to forgo make-up on this first foray out of her suite. It was her way of declaring that she really hadn't come here to meet men and, incidentally, drastically reduced her chances of having to interact with any if she did.

She looked critically at the reflection of her body, clad in the expensive but tiny bikini she'd bought for this trip. Her first bikini ever, though taking a vacation alone wasn't a first. She'd just never taken one around people before. Brienne tried to see herself as a stranger might: broad shoulders, small breasts and the strong swell of her hips that still didn't convey much of a waist. With a sigh, she rued the expanse of torso bracketed by too-little blue fabric before studying the **V**'s her bikini defined and drew attention to. Brienne was surprised to find they rendered her figure tolerable, if not exactly pleasing.

Wrapping a sarong around her hips and slinging a small satchel over her shoulder, she combed her fingers up through her fine hair in a futile attempt to make it look fuller.

She was ready. Well, ready enough.

Pulling the sliding glass door open, she stepped onto her room's small patio. Squinting against the dazzle of sun on water, Brienne inhaled deeply, letting her lungs fill with the breeze off the ocean; salt and mist, warmer though not sweeter than the air of Tarth, where she'd grown up.

She walked down the patio's three wooden steps to the beach. Fine, pale grains flowed over her sandals and between her toes, so soft it could hardly be called _sand_. Brienne smiled and wriggled her toes briefly before moving toward the water. Soon the heels of her sandals were smacking up against her feet with each step and any hope of making a graceful, quiet entrance were dashed as she sent up sprays of sand - _definitely___**_sand_** \- in her wake.

Walking closer to the shore, Brienne saw vacationers all up and down the beach, lounging on colorful seats, shaded by umbrellas and fortified by frosty drinks, paperback novels and, for some, trays of tropical fruit or shrimp cocktails. They all had one thing in common; all were paired. There appeared to be no other singletons at all.

Unsure whether she was relieved or disappointed, Brienne looked around for a place to sit. She was just realizing there might not be _any_ lone lounge chairs, when she noticed an attendant trotting toward her through the sand, somehow managing not to sink to his ankles with every footfall.

"_Hola,_ Lady L! You are ready to relax?" The man stood beaming, his teeth very bright against his deeply tanned skin. "Come, your place is ready. Follow me!" He turned and walked toward a row of chairs and Brienne followed, appreciating the muscles in his bare back, the snugness of his white shorts. "You are enjoying yourself, Lady L? You've just arrived?"

_Lady L_? Why was he calling her that? Did her room number have an 'L' in it? Maybe for Lanai or Lower Level or perhaps just the L wing of the building. She didn't recall. "Yes, I've just gotten here. My flight was a little late."

"You come Dragon Airways? They always fly 'Island Time,'" he chuckled, coming to a stop before an empty lounge chair with a colorful towel draped on it.

One problem: The chair next to it was occupied.

"I…isn't there another chair? By itself?"

The man in the other chair gazed up at her, but she couldn't read his expression behind the sunglasses.

"Oh, _oh oh oh_ Lady L," the attendant said playfully, "A lover's quarrel, so soon?" Brienne looked down sharply at the resort employee, wondering if his jest was meant to humiliate her, the man in the chair, or both of them. "Come, Lord L, apologize to your lady so that she can relax in the shade with you and enjoy a refreshing beverage."

The man hesitated only a second. "I'm sorry, sweetling," he sat up, patting the empty lounge chair. "Do sit down. I've been wondering when you'd finally arrive." He grinned, and sunglasses or no, Brienne could see that he was alarmingly handsome. Reaching up, he took her hand, "Please?"

If this was some game or social experiment put on by the resort, Brienne certainly hadn't noticed it in their online brochure. _Gods, this better not be like those cruises where they stick people together at the same table night after night, expecting them to strike up a friendship._

"Everything good? Yes? A drink for Lady L?"

"She'll have a Sloe Comfortable Screw." The man said, "Thank you, Rycky."

"I'll have a what – what in the —" Brienne sputtered as the beach boy made his hasty departure.

"They do so hate to get in the middle of married couples fighting. I'm Jaime, by the way." He released her hand, "He's right. You really ought to sit in the shade. With your fair skin you'll crisp up like a Targaryen tribute."

"I used sunblock." Brienne sat down on the edge of the chair warily. "They've made some mistake, uh, _Jaime_. Now that you've kindly ordered me what I assume is a drink, I need to –"

"It's a clever name, you know. _Slow. Comfortable. Screw_. Sloe gin, Southern Comfort, and the screw comes in when you add the orange juice and vodka."

"Do you normally order strange women's drinks for them?"

"Are you really that strange? You don't seem all that strange. But no, I ordered for you because, A: you seemed confused, and B: you're my wife." Jaime grinned and picked up his drink, saluting her with it before slurping the last of it up through the straw. "That's where the damn umbrella went!" Brienne looked up at the colorful sunshade, wondering if it had been missing earlier.

When she looked back at Jaime, he was peering into the empty Hurricane glass, fishing a dripping pink paper parasol out of it. Holding the toothpick handle between his fingers, he twirled it. The tiny wood supports drooped and droplets of orange-coloured drink spun off.

"Are you drunk?" She pulled her legs onto the lounge, telling herself it was just to get them out of the direct sun until she found somewhere else to sit.

"Of course I am. Do you have any idea how much Sex on the Beach I've had?" The earnest look on his face made her want to laugh.

"You must have a lot of sand in places that…uh –" She gave him a puzzled smile.

"You mean like up my crack? I _would_, had I the opportunity. This kind of sex on the beach isn't nearly as much fun." He set the glass on the table between them and relaxed against the backrest of his chair, wriggling to get comfortable.

Brienne stared openly at him, mesmerized by his curiously perfect stomach, low slung shorts, and the line of hair leading down… She closed her eyes, hoping he hadn't caught her looking. _Save the Seven, not here for an hour and I'm already ogling some dude on the beach?_ "So what's this about being your wife? Some odd party game I didn't know about?"

"Listen…uh, I'm sorry, what was your name again?"

"Brienne."

"_Brienne_. Lady L. Apparently they think I have a wife, and that I've been waiting for her. They're driving me mad, always asking after her, trying to find out how to keep her happy when she gets here. I've been making shit up for days, because they can't seem to get that I came here alone."

"And I, conveniently, fit the bill because I'm also, uh, here alone." Brienne shook her head, "That's going a bit far, don't you think? I'm sure if I tell them that I'm not Mrs. L…"

"Lannister." Jaime supplied, drawing the sound of the _L_ out.

"That I'm not Lady Lannister; they'll find me somewhere else to enjoy my Slow Sex on the Ocean."

"Sloe Comfortable Screw. You know, Brienne, you could save us both a lot of hassle if you just play along. I don't think they know what the hell to do with people like us."

"Like us?"

"Pathetic singles."

"Speak for yourself."

"Oh? Are you married?"

"No."

"Involved with someone?"

"No, but –"

Jaime sat up to look at her. He pushed his sunglasses up, and they pulled some of the golden hair away from his face. He really was appallingly good looking. "I won't yak your ears off, I won't ask personal questions, and I'm a perfect gentleman."

"It's ridiculous, Jaime. Just tell them the truth."

"That we're divorced? Do you want me to break poor Rycky's heart?"

Brienne sighed, recognizing that little, inescapable spark of mental attraction he'd just ignited with his wit. The absurdity of their situation had fooled her into being unselfconscious since meeting him, but now she blushed to realize she was lying down, mirroring him on 'her' lounge chair, wearing a skimpy bikini, and smelling of Pina Colada, which was _not_ a sexy name for a drink.

"Oh, oh no! You're divorcing?" Rycky had arrived with their drinks and the look of sorrow on his face wrenched at Brienne's heart. "No, it's all just a misunderstanding! We're not divorcing, we were never –"

"We were never even all that angry at each other," Jaime finished, winking at her. _Play along_ he mouthed. "Oh good, your Slow Sex is here, honey."

Rycky set her drink on a stone coaster, balancing the silver tray with Jaime's drink until he could swing it around with a flourish and place his down as well. "May I bring you anything else?"

"Nothing for me. Sweetling?" Jaime picked up his drink and took a sip. The _whoosh_ of small waves on the beach was the only sound for a long moment. Laying his hand on Brienne's knee, Jaime looked at her pointedly. "Anything for you, _Sweetling_?"

"_Oh_. You're waiting for me. I'm sorry. No, I'm fine…Sweetling."

"She's good, Rycky. Thank you."

Dismissed, Rycky happily trotted up the beach, stopping by an elderly couple who embraced him like their adopted child, then sent him jogging back with their drink order.

"Do you always answer for women?" Brienne asked.

"I only confirmed what you said."

"Unnecessarily. I answered for myself."

"Our first fight!" Jaime held out his glass, "Shall we toast it?"

"How is this a fight?" Brienne reflexively clinked her glass against his.

"You've taken umbrage that I reassured the lad you were fine. In fact, I believe you called me an "over-reaching, sexist, um…"

"Twit." Brienne supplied.

"Right. Twit."

"What if I'd done that to you? Repeated every decision you made as though it weren't to be taken seriously until I gave my word?"

"You are absolutely right, Mrs. L," Jaime clinked his glass against hers again, sloshing his drink onto their hands. "I apologize. See? You're already making me a better man. 'Behind every great man,'" he intoned.

"Is an enormous ego to keep him going."

"Ouch. How can a woman with such gorgeous eyes make such a mean wife?"

"They're just eyes," Brienne was regretting her decision to come out to the beach sans make-up. "Everyone has them."

"Well, there you're wrong." Jaime said, waiting expectantly for her to ask why. When she didn't, he went on, "If you say _everyone_ has eyes, then you leave some unfortunates out who have lost their eyes, or never had them to begin with. Like cave fish and the star-nosed mole. So, no, not everyone has them."

"How many drinks did you say you've had?"

"Did I say? I guess you have to ask Rycky, because now I'm curious, too."

Brienne laughed, rather hoping he would stay drunk. He was easy to be comfortable with, and probably wouldn't remember her later, saving on embarrassment for both of them. She took a sip of her drink and was surprised to find her straw already making slurping sounds in the near-empty glass. She looked up, startled, to find Jaime studying her.

He raised an eyebrow, a little smirk showing his amusement. "I can see I won't have to worry about you keeping pace."

"I really didn't mean to drink it so fast. Maybe they should call it a _Fast_ Screw." Brienne thought she could feel the alcohol moving through her bloodstream, heading straight for her inhibition center to dismantle it.

"Fast Screw, also known as a Quickie." Jaime took the glass from her unresisting hand and set it on the table between them. "I suppose if you left the Southern Comfort out, that's what you'd have. Personally, I prefer it slow and comfortable."

"I hope you're referring to the drink, because I hardly know you." Good, she wasn't slurring yet.

"Leaving out the fact that I am your husband, and that implies a certain _knowledge_, I believe I was referring to both. It's called a 'double entendre.'"

"Yes, I got that. You're not my husband."

"I'm crushed. Did our vows mean nothing to you?" He gave her a hang-dog look and held it until she smiled. "There's my girl. Now what shall we do today, now that you're here? I mean, besides getting completely sloshed so we'll have to help each other to bed."

_Bed? _"You're rather presumptuous, you know that?"

"So I recall you telling me on our first date. And I told you I _presumed_ you needed a little push now and then, or nothing would ever move forward. Worked out rather well, in the end."

"Jaime, Mr. Lannister… You're quite clever, obviously, but this whole marriage thing isn't quite what I expected when I came here."

"Don't tell me you're planning to stray during our vacation? I know we booked separate rooms and all, but I never thought it was so you could…" Jaime flopped back on the lounge and laid the back of his hand dramatically across his forehead.

"You're a very odd little man."

"Little?!"

"Okay, I withdraw the little part."

I mean, I realize your legs go on forever, but I'm no slouch in that – or any similar, size-related – department."

_If he's trying to come on to me, this is the weirdest seduction technique ever_.

"How tall are you, anyway?" He put his feet in the sand, then stood unsteadily.

_Damn, he's hot_. Brienne gaped up at him, wondering if his plan was to topple drunkenly into her lap. Instead, he leaned down, seized her hand, and pulled her up next to him. She swayed in the sand, far tipsier than expected, and he held her upper arms to steady her. To Brienne's great horror, she _giggled_.

"Are you okay? You never could hold your liquor. It's one of the things I've always loved about you." He guided her a few paces from their chairs and let go of her arms.

For a second she stood unsteadily, fearing that if she took a step she'd fall into his arms. Instead, he fell into hers.


	2. Chapter 2

"Oomph!" Brienne caught Jaime beneath the arms, her knees buckling from his unexpected weight. That his face was planted in her cleavage registered immediately, but before Brienne could push him away, Jaime was scrambling backwards, trying to right himself. His arms wind-milled and his footing failed. He landed hard on his arse, his sunglasses spinning away to land in the sand a few feet from them. Thus unconstrained, his hair flopped into his eyes, which widened in surprise at his abrupt change in position.

"I am so sorry," he said, contrition so obvious that Brienne's outrage at what seemed a transparent bid to touch her breasts turned to mortification that he _had_ – and regretted it.

Glancing down to make sure her bikini top hadn't shifted to expose the little it was meant to cover, Brienne braced her feet and offered Jaime her hand. One hard pull and Jaime, just getting his feet under him, rose so fast that Brienne fell back like the winner in a game of tug o' war. Jaime held fast to her hand and yanked, catching her around the waist with his other arm as she fell forward.

"Oh, bravo Mr. and Mrs. L!" Rycky appeared with another tray of drinks, "You like to dance on the beach? How romantic!"

Their bodies were pressed together tango-style, halfway into the dip, bare thighs and hips aligned. Jaime grinned and began to pivot, lowering Brienne slightly.

"Don't. You. _Dare_," She growled up at him. With a chuckle he brought her upright and she disentangled herself, shaking Jaime's fingers loose from hers.

Rycky maneuvered around them and set their drinks on the table, smoothly scooping up Jaime's sunglasses in one motion and setting them there as well. "There's dancing in the bar later," he said, "Now that your lady wife is here you will finally join us, Mr. L? Yes?" He looked from Brienne, glowering and embarrassed, to Jaime, watching her uncertainly.

"That sounds like fun. Mrs. L? What do you think?" Jaime gave her an appealing look, "Unless, um, you've already made plans?"

"Oh!" Rycky cried, covering his mouth, "Of course! You just got here, Mrs. L.. Perhaps you'd prefer to stay in your room together instead. I'm sure Mr. L has been anxious for –"

"I – he – _no_. We will _not_ be staying in the – in _his_ room…"

Rycky pulled a small tablet from his shorts pocket and began tapping at the screen. In less than a minute he nodded and held it out for them to read. "Your reservations are at eight. Dinner _and_ dancing!" When neither of them bothered to look at the device, Rycky began tapping at the screen again. "You seem a bit tense." He remarked, "Perhaps a couple's massage? And a mud bath? The schedule is pretty full, but…"

"Maybe some other day for the spa, Rycky," Jaime began brushing away the sand on his arse and the backs of his thighs from his fall. Brienne tried hard not stare as he twisted one leg to check for more sand. You could go a long way before seeing thigh muscles like his. And she had.

"You'll just love it," Rycky promised, "The mud really opens up your pores, and the couples tubs are very cozy."

"It sounds filthy." Brienne muttered.

Jaime quirked an eyebrow at her, "I should hope so, or there'd be no point really."

"I didn't mean that kind of filth."

"Which kind?"

"Well, the kind where, uh…" Brienne faltered to a stop as the man's mouth twitched in amusement.

"Some of our patrons do worry about the mud, Lady L," Rycky hastened to reassure her, "but afterwards the attendants will spray you both down before you get into the jetted tub."

Imagination racing ahead of her need to refuse any such activity, Brienne pictured her accidental companion being slowly revealed as he was rinsed clean of clinging mud. There was a startling rush of heat to her face - and other areas south of it - that had naught to do with the afternoon sun.

"I think not, Rycky." She said firmly, surprised to catch Jaime blushing as he turned away, fresh drink in hand.

He was silent for a long moment, watching the miniature waves lapping at the shore. "So, dinner and dancing?" He said, his back still to them.

"Yes, at eight," Rycky picked up Brienne's old glass with its melting ice and Jaime's, still half full of orange liquid.

"I am a bit weary of eating my supper alone." Jaime said so quietly Brienne wondered if he meant them to hear. He bowed his head a little, blond hair lifting in the breeze, exposing the pale skin on the back of his neck, untouched by the sun. It made him seem strangely vulnerable, despite his broad shoulders and brash confidence.

"At eight. We'll be there," Brienne found herself telling Rycky, "Though I'm not much of a dancer, really."

"No worries!" He assured her, "We have a fantastic instructor. He'll show you all the latest sexy dance moves." Rycky held his tray up with one hand and put the other low on his belly, his hips beginning to swivel and sway in a way Brienne had never been able to achieve.

Jaime turned back to watch, catching Brienne's eye as their beach boy began to hum and move his feet to a rhythm of his own. "What do you call that dance?" He asked.

The younger man stopped humming to answer, but didn't seem to know where his hip's _off_ switch was, "My friends call it the Ryck Roll. I just make it up as I go."

"That's something, isn't it honey?" Jaime was all charm again, and Brienne wondered if she'd imagined the forlorn tone in his voice earlier. She nodded in answer, wondering at herself for being so easily manipulated. Well, she could always cancel before their reservation time.

"Can I get you two a snack in the meantime? Shall I send an attendant out to apply fresh sunblock? Or would you like to swim? I know you always like an afternoon dip, ser. Maybe you'd like an inner tube or two? "

"I fear I may be too..._inbrianated_ to swim." Brienne announced, waving her hand at the water._Besides, this sarong is the only thing keeping me from being ninety percent naked_.

"Inbreeniated?" Jaime grinned at her.

She frowned and tried again, "In-ee-breenated."

"In-Brienne-ee-ated."

"No. In-ee-brien…" _Fuck_. Better not attempt _intoxicated_ either. "Drunk. I am too drunk to swim."

"That's hasn't stopped me," Jaime said.

"We have many lifeguards. We've never had a guest drown yet."

_Yet_. Brienne looked around, noticing for the first time that there were tall towers set at regular intervals along the beach, all occupied by deeply tanned men and women in red bathing suits.

"We'll take a couple of tubes, Rycky." Jaime smilingly patted the lad's shoulder, sending him on his way.

Brienne watched him leave, trying to decide if he was still dancing or if walking in the sand was making his arse twitch like that.

"To be honest Jaime, I really don't think it's a good idea."

"The inner tubes? You'll love 'em."

"I meant swimming. Going in the water."

"Oh. I've never thought of you as one of _those_ women."

"One of what women?"

"The kind who only wear a bikini for show."

"It's not like I've got any reason to show off." Brienne said coolly.

"I'm not reason enough?"

Brienne sighed. "I meant that I didn't come out here to be seen. It's not like I would excite anyone's notice." She gestured at herself.

Her faux-husband's brows furrowed and his eyes flicked down to her toes and traveled up slowly. He met her eyes, smiled, and repeated his examination. Brienne crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. "What are you doing?"

"Noticing you."

"Well…well _stop_."

"Too late, sweetling. That ship sailed even before our first date. You haven't escaped my notice a day since."

"There was never any first date." Brienne stomped her foot in the sand, an action as ineffectual as reasoning with this man appeared to be.

"What would you call it then? Is it no longer only a first date when it lasts until the next afternoon?"

"When what lasts?"

"I was talking about the date itself, but there were other things that lasted longer than expected-"

Brienne's mouth dropped open, "We certainly never slept together on a first date!"

"Well, if you're going to call that time we shared a table at the coffee shop a first date, then I suppose we didn't."

"That hardly qualifies as a date."

"I'm glad you agree. If it makes you feel better you can pretend we didn't have sex until date 1.5. It was after midnight, was it not?"

"I don't need to pretend _anything_."

"I'd be crushed if you had." His grin turned to a pout, "Or ever did."

"We're pretending right now! I'm sorry Mr. Lannister," Brienne uncrossed her arms and put her hands on her hips, "But I'm beginning to wonder if you might be experiencing some sort of delusion. It might be best if find somewhere else to sit." _Far away_.

"I'm drunk, Brienne. Not delusional. There's a difference."

"Is there?" She bent to pick up the small satchel she'd left next to the chaise, making a few grabs at it before getting a grip on the strap. She stood up slowly, hoping feigned dignity would make up for the fact that her head suddenly weighed five stone and the beach was tilting dangerously.

Jaime reached out a steadying hand and Brienne realized she was swaying like a palm tree in a gentle breeze. "Tell me: are you delusional or drunk right now?" He asked.

"What do you think? _I'm_ obviously not delusional."

"Which leaves _drunk_."

Jaime's hand had tightened on her arm and with a start she realized he was trying to ease her back onto her chair as he sat down on his. Her legs folded like fresh laundry and she sat with a graceless _thump_.

"Oh gods," she whispered, "I really am. I'm sloshed."

"Pickled." Jaime agreed in a pleasant tone.

"Schnockered."

"Buttered."

"Buttered? Haven't heard that one."

"It fits."

"Oh." Brienne tried to concentrate. What did the kids call it back in uni? _Ah_. "Three shits to the wind."

"Three shits to the wind?" Jaime laughed, sliding his hand down her arm until, meeting her fingers, he let it rest there.

"Bollocks. Is it not 'wind?'?"

"No, it's 'wind' all right."

"Good. Also, um, blotto, boiled and…" Brienne let her head fall back and contemplated the sky, searching for another 'b' word. "Besotted!"

"Me, too, I think." Jaime turned her hand over on his knee and traced the lines of her palm with one finger. His touch was light and her hand tingled as he brushed the line curving from her wrist to just above her thumb, and then outlined each finger. The tingling spread and her heart was pounding even harder than her head.

"So what's my fortune?"

"Hm?" Jaime looked up.

_Don't stop now_. "My fortune. Aren't you reading my palm?"

"Oh. Yes, that's exactly what I'm doing." His sudden grin caught at her fraying resolve to leave. "You want to know what I see?"

Brienne nodded. She'd rarely achieved this particular stage of being drunk, where everything had such a lovely softness to its edges. Generally she careened right past it to praying to the Porcelain Seven and wishing she were dead.

Spreading her hand out on his knee, Jaime examined it, fingers dancing slowly over her palm, "This is your Life Line," he said, following a line near her fingers, his voice so close to her ear that she shivered. "It's pretty long, but it fades up here near the end, when you're about one hundred and fourteen and forced to limit dancing to once a week." He smoothed his finger over the next lower crease and then doubled back and did it again. "And this one is your Heart Line. Do you feel it?"

"Feel what?"

"Your Heart Line. When I touch it like this, does it echo in your heart?"

_It sure echoes somewhere._"Should it?"_Wait; is he giving me a hand job_?

"Honestly? No clue. I've never read anyone's palm before."

"Oh." Lulled but oddly roused by his touch, Brienne looked from her open hand on Jaime's knee to his face. Her first impression of him as unusually handsome still held, but up close she was strangely fascinated by the sparse gray and blond stubble along his chin and jaw, the curl of dark eyelashes against his cheek when his eyes closed, and the glint of his teeth as he chewed at his lower lip. _How would it feel, to touch those lips with mine_?

Dreamlike, Brienne leaned forward, about to bestow a drunken kiss when Jaime looked up from her hand. Their eyes, barely a dozen inches apart, met. Brienne froze, shocked by what she'd nearly done.

"Hola! Time to cool off!" Rycky's cheerful voice came between them like a well-aimed hose and they looked up to see him clutching two enormous inner tubes.


End file.
